


cat ballou (x5)

by astrogyaru



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Movie Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 17:28:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4188585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrogyaru/pseuds/astrogyaru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People ask them if they ever get tired of watching the same tape, and the answer is always no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cat ballou (x5)

Cecil sits cross-legged on the floor, hands turning over an old VHS tape. He wonders how many times the tape had been played, and whether it was ever going to give out. A faded label reads ‘CAT BALLOU’ in blue lettering, one of the edges slightly torn.

“Cecil?” Carlos calls from somewhere the kitchen.

“Yeah?” Cecil replies absently. Behind him he hears footsteps, and he turns to see Carlos leaning in the archway between the two rooms.

“Okay, so, the popcorn I found– which I  _swear_  was butter when I bought it– has mysteriously turned into kettle-corn, and I know you don’t like that as much, but I was wondering if it’s okay?”

“Mysteriously?” Cecil repeats, cocking his brow. “You don’t think you just grabbed the wrong kind?” he says, tone teasing and playful.

”No,” Carlos says bashfully, squishing his cheek against the door frame. “I definitely did not do that.”

Carlos makes two bags of the kettle corn, because it’s fine, really, and pours them both in a big yellow bowl. Cecil goes through the tedious process of changing the TV input so it will play the VRC, and after several minutes plus a few used up bloodstones, the movie is playing.

Cecil pushes himself up off the floor, settling onto the couch instead. Carlos comes in with the popcorn and two bottles of Coke, smiling when he sees Cecil sitting with his legs tucked under him to the side, like he always does.

Cecil takes the bowl and one of the bottles, the glass cold and wet against his hand. Carlos sits next to him, settled in just right, short legs crossed at the ankle, perched on the edge of the coffee table (Cecil scolds him on occasion, but secretly thinks it’s adorable).

The tape plays previews for movies Carlos isn’t totally sure even exist, damage showing in that one particular spot that it always does, the screen stuttering and ragged for a moment before picking right back up. For a moment the screen is black, leaving them blanketed in darkness.

When the light comes back they catch it in the other’s eye. Blue and florescent, catching like sparks in the deep browns of their irises. Carlos’ eyes are like gold in the sunlight, shimmering and bright, and Cecil’s, oh Cecil’s, are like rich coffee, warm and flickering like a cut gemstone.

Carlos breaks first, a wide smile playing across his face. Cecil laughs, and does that thing he does sometimes, where he sticks his tongue out and scrunches up his nose. Carlos can’t help but kiss him then, and Cecil kisses him back, and they get back to their movie.

The first and second time the movie ends Cecil gets up dutifully, sitting on the floor and waiting for the tape to rewind, coaxing the VCR out of a few coughing fits. Carlos gets more popcorn, and they sit on the couch again and re-watch scenes they’ve seen a hundred times.

Cecil has his head tucked under Carlos’ chin, and Carlos has his hand in his hair, or on his back, or his arm, stroking absently. How close they both feel, how grounded they are. Together on their couch, in their living room, watching their movie like they always do. The songs they both know, the smell of popped kernel and salt, the taste of cola on their lips. The feeling of being in each other’s arms.

People ask them if they ever get tired of watching the same tape, and the answer is always no.

Well, assuming the question is asking if they get bored. Because by the fifth viewing, they’re yawning, snuggled closer, letting their eyes rest, breathing even.

Eventually no one gets up to rewind, and the TV stays up to play soft static, and there they are, sleeping with the light playing across their faces.


End file.
